The True Story Of Love Lost and Found Again
by seriouslyjess
Summary: A H/Cam story told in first person. Cameron left and she took their daughter with her. House needs them back, but can he change their minds? ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

I'm hoping that this will help with the writers block I have on all of my current stories. It's something new. It's in first person and the first chapter is pretty long. I'm not sure if the person telling the story is going to switch every chapter. Let me know what you think,  
Jess **  
**

* * *

**How It All Ended: The True Story Of Love Lost and Found Again.**

**Chapter 1: St. Vincent's and Leaving**

"Brenna!" I turn to look for the voice that is calling my name.

The voice is soon accompanied by a body. At 6'2 Tessa Brooks can clearly be seen. Her chocolate brown eyes are dancing and her brown her is pulled into a tight ponytail. Based on her sweats I can tell she just came from basketball practice.

Her skin is shining in the light and I can see red spots on her otherwise white legs that are probably floor burn.

She slides up next to me in the cafeteria her tray piled high with food. She is one of those people who can just eat and eat and never gain an ounce. She is also one of my newest friends. "What are your plans for break?"

I put down my ham and cheese bagel and grin at her.

"I'm going home to see the family, of course."

The rest of the table – there are five of us sitting there – groan.

My family has been described as oddly perfect.

That description alone makes me laugh, but to some of my friends I guess I am normal. Only my closest friend – Amber, knows the whole story.

And she only knows because she lived through part of it.

Take Tessa's family for example. She grew up in a broken home and over the course of her twenty one years has had eleven different step parents. Her mother has had seven husbands, her father four wives. She has multiple half siblings whose ages who vary greatly. Her parents never speak to each other and she can count on two hands the times the cops have had to be called by the neighbors because of the knock down drag out fights that have happened on her front lawn.

Compared to her family mine is normal.

Everything in my family happens over the summer.

I don't know if that's on purpose – because I don't have school, or if that is just the way the world works. My birthday is in the summer – the 4th of July to be exact - and my parents were born in the summer. Their wedding was in the summer. The day our life spiraled out of control was the second day of summer.

Summer it just seems is our time to screw up.

We screw up all the time. In my family, in the whole world.

Every day you do at least one thing that you will regret for at least a moment. Whether it's cheating on a test or eating a chocolate bar, you feel bad.

One day I will tell Tessa the whole story. That underneath smiles my family has its battle scars. She has not met my father or my mother. She hasn't seen the picture of the three of us I keep next to my bed. She doesn't know that my father is fifteen years older then my mother. That he walks with a cane and is brilliant. That my mother is his equal in brains and that her niceness makes up for his cruel remarks.

That the scar I have on the bottom of my right foot is from broken glass – but not because someone dropped it and I accidentally walked on it before they could clean it up.

But because I was running barefoot back into the house and ran over the glass. Why I was running there is what makes the lies important. It took twenty three stitches to sew up while I buried my face in my mothers chest and sobbed.

But until then I am content to let one of my newest friends think that I am just a girl from New Jersey.

* * *

When I was eleven, I ran away. Now all of you are probably going _well, yeah, who hasn't?_

Well, my story is different.

I got farther then the street and farther then the bus stop.

I got all the way to Australia if you really want to know.

Across from New Jersey to California and then took a plane to Australia.

I was not alone though.

Is it still considered running away if your mother is running with you?

* * *

My father almost died a few months before he married my mother. 

He's an alcoholic.

In AA he learned that once you are an alcoholic you are always an alcoholic. So right now he is a recovered alcoholic.

The definition of alcoholism varies. I have done a lot of research on the subject, because it has always interested me. Not _how_someone becomes an alcoholic, but _why_. What makes them who they are?

The drinking almost destroyed his liver. It changed his attitude to. He became an angry person. My father has always been an angry person, but there was a difference between who he was when he was sober and when he was drunk.

According to my Uncle Robert there were days that my mother would leave his house (and later on) his hospital room in tears, days when he would spend an hour screaming at her only to beg seconds later for some alcohol.

He was a sorry state.

My father has a permanent limp after an infraction in his leg that caused him to loose thigh muscle.

The Vicodin that he takes plus his constant drinking – not a good combination.

The Vicodin alone is bad enough for a person. There are so many side effects that to me the end doesn't outweigh the means. To him it has, and to this day still does. But he has cut down on the drug intake dramatically.

He had gone into work one day still drunk and had passed out. The jaundice and vomiting blood had begun when he came to.

The ultrasound of his abdomen had shown what my aunt and uncle had feared.

My aunt – who is also the Dean of Medicine – gave him an ultimatum.

Either he got help for the drinking and his Vicodin addiction or that was the end of his job.

My father was an addict. Addicts are dangerous when separated from their crutch. He ignored both of them, so they called in the big guns.

My mother.

A brief background on my family – my mother loved my father, my father claimed not to share the same feelings. They did a dance for only about a gazillion years - and my mom ended up dating my now Uncle Robert. (Not blood related, because that'd be weird.) Three years later her contract ran out and she as well as Robert and the third person in the fellowship (Eric) left. My mom moved to Arizona with Robert and they tried to work it out. Two months later they realized it wasn't going to happen.

When Jimmy and Lisa called my mom she was available. She flew out to see him, and after weeks of arguing and threatening convinced him to go to AA.

To this day I still don't know what she said to convince him to admit that he had a problem and go to rehab. But I have an idea.

He's been clean for ten years.

Yes, ten years.

That means that I was eleven the last time he had a drink.

And that is why we ran away.

Because of drinking.

And because of my father and his stupid pride.

Because of his inabliilty to admit that he screwed up. That yes, he made a mistake.

Drinking almost destroyed our family.

And pride.

_It is better to lose your pride with someone you love rather than to lose that someone you love with your useless pride._

My dad didn't get that memo.

* * *

My parents are both doctors, so I was always used to hectic schedules. I hated the busy lives they had. 

I could stand the sight of blood, I had watched countless surgeries with a fascination that had surprised the interns, I could rattle off complicated names of drugs and diseases and knew how to insert an IV and draw blood. I was allowed to write on the white board. Being a Doctor is interesting as hell.

But the hours sucked.

It was to neither of my parents surprise when I went to school to become a marine biologist.

Science and animals – especially water animals are two of my biggest passions.

I've known what I've wanted to do since that fateful trip when I was eleven.

But anyway, back to the story. As well as crappy hours my parents also travel from time to time to conferences to give speeches and listen to them and mingle.

The rule in my family is this: one, you can't be gone for more then two weeks on any sort of work crap unless you get two weeks off to spend with me in the summer. The second rule is that only one parent can be gone at a time.

My mother was in Colorado, and I was at home with my dad.

I have never been that much of a daddy's girl. Parents talk about just looking at their child and having a connection. With my father and me there was no magical connection until later. For a while the two of us shared very few things.

They consisted of our eye color, our hate for stupid people, our love for monster trucks, cars and motorcycles, the fact that we both love to play the piano and the fascination we had with blood and gore.

I get my niceness from my mother. I have her hair, her body shape, her attitude. Everything that I didn't list above I got from her. We are two peas in a pod, closer then any other mother/daughter duo.

To this day I can still finish her sentences.

Anyway, my dad promised me that the next morning we could get up and make pancakes together. (My mother was at a two week long conference, which meant that we couldn't just live off of take-out like we normally did.)

I woke up that morning and went to their room to wake him up.

He wasn't there, but that wasn't unusual. Some nights he fell asleep in his study.

I went down and opened his study door.

My father is a heavy sleeper. A heavy, heavy sleeper.

I pranced over and shook him. He didn't respond, only moaned. I shook him again and his eyes cracked open.

"Bren."

"You said that we could make pancakes." I reminded him.

He shook his head and before he could answer he threw up.

I jumped back and just narrowly avoided getting hit.

"Are you okay?"

He didn't answer and I disappeared to get a cool cloth like my mom did when I was sick.

I rubbed it over his face and helped him lay down on the pull-out couch we had in the study.

He was pale and sweaty and his forehead was on fire.

I knew about his alcohol problem. At eleven I wasn't stupid, and had been eavesdropping on 'private' conversations since I was about six.

If you want to have a 'private' conversations don't do it at my house or the hospital. I will find you.

I went to wring out the cloth and tripped. The bottle of St. Vincent's Rum rolled on it's side and spilled all over the carpet.

To this day I cannot drink any kind of rum.

* * *

I called Lisa before I called anyone else. 

Who else could I call?

Lisa was mom's best friend, and as much as I love Jimmy he has again and again let my father get away with murder.

She answered right away and sobbing I told her that d_addy was sick._

Lisa didn't come because he was sick. I had stayed with my father when he was sick before. We watched Grave Digger on TV and mom brought Chinese for dinner.

There was something behind my words that scared her. I sounded vulnerable. And I never sound vulnerable.

She told me she would be there in ten minutes.

She was there in six.

I let her into the house and the first thing that she did was hug me and make sure that I was still breathing.

"He threw up." I told her. "He has a fever and the shakes." I paused and then added, really quietly. "There was a half empty bottle of rum on the floor."

Let me tell you what I know about St Vincent's rum.

It is 169 proof. Proof is out of two hundred, meaning that the rum is almost 85 pure alcohol. Beer is usually 5 or 6 percent.

My father wasn't doing light drinking. Nope. He was drinking to get drunk. He knew exactly what he was doing.

He just didn't think that I was going to catch him.

Lisa paused and pursed her lips. It was clear that she didn't care that my father had a hangover from hell.

He wasn't getting any sympathy.

"Brenna, call your mom and tell her that your dad is sick - he'll be fine – but you want her to come home. She already spoke so she can leave without that much of a problem. Tell her I said it was okay."

"Okay." I went to get the one from dad's office but she grabbed my shoulders.

"Use the one in your room please."

That meant that it was going to be interesting. I went upstairs and disappeared. She watched me walk into my room, but as soon as she turned her back I bolted. I took the backstairs halfway down so I could hear her.

The kitchen is almost right next to the study, and the backstairs are in between them. There is a curve though, so if you sit a certain way the people can't see you, but you can see into the study and some of the kitchen.

Lisa was filling a popcorn bowl with something from the freeze and seconds before she disappeared I realize it was ice.

"Get up."

I heard the groan from my father as the ice hit his body.

"Bren, what the-?"

And then there was a pause as the moment of realization hit my father.

Lisa.

I had called Lisa.

His secret was out.

"Oh shit."

He had no idea.**  
**

* * *

My mother arrived home five hours later to find me curled in a ball on my bed and Lisa standing guard over my father. 

She was beyond pissed.

Lisa had searched the house and came up with two bottles of tequila in a chandelier that only my father can reach and another three bottles of rum hidden in some shoe boxes in his closet. My mother doesn't keep alcohol in the house, and usually only has some wine when we go out to dinner or sometimes at weddings.

"Lise?" I heard the thump as she put down her suitcase. "I thought Brenna said that Greg was sick."

"Eleven year olds aren't trained to recognize hang-overs."

There was a pause.

I waited for the explosion that was going to come from my mother. I tensed my body, waiting for tears or a scream or swear words to be thrown at my father.

"Could you do me a favor Lisa? Could you file paperwork with the hospital? I'm taking a leave of absence starting today."

I hugged my pillow to my body. I heard Lisa saying good-bye to my mother and for her to call if she needed anything.

This was a family matter now. Just the three of us.

The slap of my mothers bare feet on hard wood alerted me to her presence.

"Brenna?"

"Mom." I threw myself into her arms and my shoulders began to shake as tears hit me full force.

"It'll be okay. I promise." She soothed me, whispering words of comfort in my ears. "I need you to do me a favor kiddo." She murmured when I was finally calm.

"What?"

"I need you to pack a bag for a few days. Then I want you to go into my room. In the snowman socks you got me there's a key. Get the key and open the drawer in my desk. Our passports are in there, and there's money too. Take that and put it in your purse. Then go get in the car. I'll be out soon."

She disappeared down the hallway and I scurried to do her bidding.

I packed mostly shorts and t-shirts, but also my favorite blue dress, a few bathing suits and some jeans. I added sweatshirts and socks and gym shoes. There were other odds and ends – books, my Ipod, my game boy, CD's, gift cards and my own money. My mother had taught me how to pack and I could fit many things in a small space. I went into their room and got the key and then the papers.

I could hear yelling downstairs but blocked it out by humming The Who's_The Kids Are Alright _as loud as I could.

I dragged a backpack from my mom's closet and added some of her clothes too. I wasn't sure why, but I had a feeling she wasn't carting me off to someone else while she dealt with my dad's drinking.

After that I grabbed the money and passports and put everything in the car.

By then the yelling was getting to loud to block out. I went and sat on the stairs by the front door. Everything was in the car, including mom's suitcase that she had brought back from Colorado.

Mom and dad were now making their way to the foyer as they fought and I nestled down closer to the stairs.

"_It was one drink Allison! One drink."_

"So what are the bottles of rum and tequila for? Decoration?"

"God Damnit Allison! I wasn't going to drink them."

"I don't believe you."

"You have to."

"What about Brenna, Greg? Your eleven year old daughter just found you hung over. She called Lisa because she knew what was wrong." There was a pause. "I don't want her to grow up like I did Greg. You're not supposed to be scared of your own father."

I paused. Grandma Cameron was my favorite grandparent. She was currently off in some other country exploring the world by herself. Grandma never needed anyone by her side.

My Grandma isn't married. My Grandpa we see on the rare occasions where he happens to be at one of my Uncle's houses and we go for Christmas. He is always leaving and dad always tightens his grip on his cane when he sees him.

One time he had stopped and said 'so this is my granddaughter' real soft and his eyes had some tears in them. Mom didn't answer right away and Dad steered both of us into the house. As we were passing him my mother said to him, real clear _you don't have a granddaughter, dad. You don't even have a daughter._

What had grandpa done to Mom?

No one had ever told me and I hadn't been able to find out by eavesdropping on people.

"She's not scared of me."

I was. I was scared of being a disappointment to him. Scared of him not loving me enough. But no one knew that but Amber.

"Maybe not yet. But what happens when one drink becomes two, or three, or four? Or when you're staggering home from a bar at midnight? Or when you're at the hospital and your liver is failing again?"

"I'll stop. I can start and stop anytime I want."

"I want you to start going to AA meetings again."

"I won't."

"Greg, if you don't get help we're not staying here."

"You wouldn't do that to Brenna.

"I don't want her growing up in an environment like this."

"I'll stop. It was one fucking drink. But I'm not getting help. I don't need help."

She turned around and dad grabbed her shoulders.

"You're not leaving."

"Get help."

"_NO!_" He was shaking my mother by her shoulders now, using her as balance instead of his cane which lay useless on the floor.

"Let me go Greg."

His grip tightened and I could tell that he was starting to hurt her by the way her lips tightened.

I bounded down the stairs and shoved him.

"Let her go daddy." I didn't care as he stumbled back, eyes wide with surprise.

I was sobbing and mom picked me up, cradling my body to hers.

"It's okay baby, shhh… calm down. He didn't hurt me, I'm okay."

She sent one last look back and then carried me to the car.

Once I was safely seat belted into the backseat she pulled out of the driveway.

I can still see my father standing there in the driveway, a look of shock written across his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: New Ducklings and AMC  
**

I clean the white board off and turn to smile at my three 'ducklings' as Greg has now dubbed them for me.

"Go on guys, I'll finish up here." I walk into my office to pack up my bags and to make some case notes.

"Dr. Cameron?"

"Just call me Cameron, no need to put the Doctor in front of my name." I turn to face my newest fellow, Ryan Goodman.

"What can I do for you?"

"Well, the three of us are going out for drinks, and I was wondering if you wanted to join us."

Ryan is like a cute little puppy dog, and I know that soon he will be asking me if I am married or have a boyfriend. If he hasn't noticed my ring yet, I shouldn't have hired him.

"I can't tonight actually."

I'm trying to think of a way to let the kid down easy when I hear a voice.

"She's got plans with me tonight."

I grin and walk over to kiss Greg on the cheek.

I usually go over and meet him at PPTH after work, but my car is in the shop so he drove me to work today at Princeton General on his motorcycle.

"I thought you wouldn't be here 'til later. I was going to do some paperwork."

"Wouldn't you rather go out with me? I got here early so we could leave." He whines.

I shoot him a look, knowing that he wouldn't have been here for another half hour at least if he was _trying_.

"Lisa knew that I drove you so she made sure that I left to pick you up on time. She's an evil monster I tell you."

"Sure."

I turn to my fellow and smile at him.

"Goodman, this is my husband Dr. House. Greg, the newest member of my team, Dr. Goodman, he has a degree in otolaryngology."

Specialties have nothing to do with the nicknames that Greg gives my fellows. Otolaryngology is a very fancy way of saying ear, nose and throat specialist.

"That would make you – Dopey then."

Goodman looked startled and I continued to pack up. I would let Greg have his fun for now. He would soon get used to Greg's mocking and unexpected visits.

Greg felt the need to explain and I could see Aidan and Kathleen coming over to see what was going on.

"Well, Wilkins Sleepy." He meant the second member of my team Aidan Williams an endocrinologist. "And Moses is Bashful." Kathleen Moss is an angiologist and the final member of my team.

Greg knows their names, but I didn't correct him. Not knowing their names is his way of messing with their minds. It's as if he doesn't care about them enough to remember their names.

"I'm the Prince and then your leader over there is Snow White."

I roll my eyes at him, but don't comment. We have had this conversation countless times with different people taking the place of the dwarfs.

"Greg, let's get going. You three should too. Someone tell the nurses to page us if there are any problems with the patient."

I swing my bag onto my shoulder and Greg puts his hand on my lower back to guide me out of the room. Really it's a show of possessiveness.

"I'll see you tomorrow, good job today."

We walk out and he turns to me, smirking ever so slightly.

"I think that I like him. Shell shocked and awed, that's how I like them. As long as he keeps his hands to himself."

"Be nice Greg." I reply. "Let's go get dinner."

* * *

Brenna calls me that night and I answer excitedly. 

"Hey kiddo, what's up?"

"I'll be home in about a week and a half. I have one more final and then I have to pack. Is it okay if some of my friends stop by about a week after I get back? Tessa really wants to meet you guys."

"Of course that's fine sweetie." I am moving around the house the phone balanced between my ears. "I'm guessing that since she wants to meet us she has no idea who we are or the fun back story that is our lives?"

Tessa I know wants to be a cardiologist. She has never mentioned our names to Brenna, but then again, she probably doesn't know about Brenna's love for medicine. Non-med students don't usually talk about medicine. Brenna's different. She just hates the hours and the traveling.

When she was a little girl her favorite thing to do was swim and go to work with us. When she was eleven we went swimming with the dolphins and that sealed the deal.

"What are you and dad doing this weekend?"

Brenna doesn't answer my question, but I don't expect her to.

"It's an anniversary Bren." I remind her.

We have multiple anniversaries and I don't expect her to keep them all straight. She remembers three important ones besides birthdays. The day we ran away and the day we came home. And our wedding anniversary.

"What is it this time mom?"

"The time your dad agreed to go to AA when Lisa and Robert couldn't convince him."

"Ah."

We don't measure our family in normal times. Birthdays are important, but so are the little things.

We still celebrate the first 'B' Brenna ever got in class; to remind her that she tried her best and that's all that matters.

We celebrate the day that Greg stopped drinking; but we also semi-celebrate the day he fell off the wagon. There really is no celebration, but a quiet moment we note. Everyone makes mistakes, and in the scheme of things, worse things could have happened. We could have lost him. He could be dead. There are worse things then making mistakes.

"So how's school going?"

I walk into the den where Greg is watching TV and cover the mouthpiece with my hand.

"Take-out or cooking?"

"I'm in the mood for some Mexican. Who're you one the phone with?"

"Brenna."

He holds out a hand and turns the TV off. "I wanna talk to her."

"I'm talking to her."

"So put her on speaker." I roll my eyes and put my mouth back to the phone.

"Bren, dad wants to talk to you. He's stealing the phone."

Brenna giggles and sighs.

"I_guess_I'll talk to him." Her voice is playful and I smile. "I'll talk to you tomorrow Sweetie."

"Okay Mom. I love you."

"Love you too. Here's dad."

Greg takes the phone greedily and puts it to his ear, but not before pulling me down and kissing me.

"Hi Princess..."

Greg has called Brenna Princess since she was a baby. The nickname disappeared when she was about seven and reappeared at eleven. Brenna does mean Princess, but it wouldn't matter if it didn't.

She is a daddy's girl through and through.

I leave Greg to their conversation and go to order some Mexican.

Years ago Mexican would have been margaritas and salsa dancing. Now it's spicy food, pop and a scary movie on the couch with my husband.

Back then going out was what I looked forward to. Weekends of stress relieving.

Now I just look forward to calm nights we have together. Because we almost didn't have any of that.

Brenna is my daughter, but after all of these years we have learned to share her, albeit reluctantly sometimes.

The anniversaries are coming up, lined in a neat little row. The entire three months of summer is a time of reflection for us.

Memories are always from the summer.

* * *

Greg watched me as I walked into his hospital room. 

"What are you doing here?"

"Lisa and James called me."

"Lisa and James called you." He repeated.

"Two guesses why." I replied, sitting in the chair next to his bed. "And the first two don't count."

I felt him studying me, studying my figure. Trying to figure me out. Good luck to him.

The past months in Arizona had been hot. I had been doing a lot of hiking and it had turned my pasty white skin a nicer darker shade that made me look like an actual human being instead of a ghost.

I wore ratty, ripped jeans and a tank top with _Peace _written on it. Old navy flip flops showed off red toes. My hair was in a pony tail and I had barely put on any make-up.

Arizona had been good to me. I didn't look thirty, I looked twenty.

An hour passed in dead silence. I wasn't going to start a conversation with House; I had no idea what to say. I needed some mocking remark to break the silence, but it wasn't happening.

Finally, I sighed and took the remote from the side of his bed and flipped the TV on.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"My show is on." I informed him. "Lisa and James wanted me to come and talk to you, but nothing I say is going to change your mind at the moment. I do have something to say, but it's going to have to wait. So I'm going to watch my show."

He was shocked and I had to bite my lip from smiling.

House doesn't care about feelings. He doesn't care about half the things 'normal' people care about. Running into his arms and sobbing and demanding that he stop drinking wouldn't change his mind.

Me blatantly ignoring his drinking would make him curious. And that was part one of my plan – hook him in.

"All My Children?" He groaned seconds later.

"I hate this show."

"Well, I hate General Hospital. Have you ever even watched All My Children?"

"Have you ever watched General Hospital?" He threw the words back at me, but I expected it.

"Every day from the time I was ten until I was eighteen during the summers I would watch it with my mother." I admitted.

There was a look of surprise on his face and it pleased me. "Now shut up so I can explain it to you."

He did and I smiled ever so slightly.

"Now, this is Erica Kane, the entire show was based off of her. She has three kids. That one is Kendall. Erica had her when she was-"

* * *

It took two days for House to ask me why I wasn't begging him to go to rehab. 

My answer was truthful. Omission of truth is only a half-way lie.

"No one can decide for you to go to rehab. James, Lisa and I can beg all we want. Lisa can threaten and your new fellows can come in here and stare at you with big sorrowful doe eyes. But it won't change anything."

"Has Arizona made you hard?"

I knew that he was still waiting for me to fall over my feet and hold his hand and cry and beg and plead. Something I would have done. But he had done this to himself. He was a doctor and he knew exactly what he was doing.

And now he was dying and still claiming that he was fine.

So, yes I was uncaring. Yes, I wasn't even flinching.

"Working with you did." _And experience._

I couldn't count the times that I had sat up with my father to make sure that he didn't choke on his vomit.

The nights I had woken my mother up every hour on Doctor's orders to make sure she didn't have a concussion.

I had watched my sister tumble down the stairs to many times to count and my older brother leap to defend me from a smack. I myself had ended up at the hospital the lies tumbling out of my mouth.

There are two things that I learned growing up in a house with a father who walked around with a closed fist and a bottle of rum.

To get someone help first you have to get yourself help. When you have a black eye or a split lip you can't look at the person who gave it to you and tell them to get help.

You can't look at them at all because you are afraid of them.

"Our job is not to straighten each other out, but you help each other get up."

I couldn't force House to do anything he didn't want to.

Some people only go to rehab when they hit rock bottom.

Like House laying in the hospital bed. He was yellow, his liver was failing, he almost looked like something out of a horror movie.

But that wasn't rock bottom for him yet.

Rock bottom is different for everyone.

For me it was looking in the mirror one day and not seeing the Allison Cameron I had always been but some strange creature I didn't recognize.

So I did something about it. I left.

House's rock bottom wouldn't hit until he realized that he had nothing.

And he still had something.

He had me. He had Wilson, and Cuddy and his fellows.

And as long as someone cared enough to tell him to stop he would keep right on going.

Nothing I would say would change that.

But I could try. I could merely tell him the truth.

"I have three siblings. An older brother Adam, me, and then twin siblings, a sister Ashley and a brother Aaron. When I was ten my dad lost his job."

It is a typical story of falling into the bottle to escape depression and I waited for House to stop me with a snide comment.

"He started drinking heavily, and then a few months after that started using fists instead of words."

I could still remember the first time he hit my mother. Apologies had flown fast and furious and promises that were made to be broken had been proclaimed.

For years it had gone on. And then one day he had gone too far. But House didn't need to know that. He didn't need to know about the day I had gone tumbling down the stairs. How he had lit a candle and poured the hot wax to wake me up. That Ashley had ended up with a crushed wrist and a scar that almost matched mine. To this day the scars on our hips from the wax are still there. Ironically enough the wax ended up creating a heart.

"My mom was usually the first person that my dad went after followed by my older brother and then me and then Ashley. He usually passed out before he made it to my little brother. Aaron was his favorite and still is. When I was fifteen my mom snapped. She wasn't home and we got beat up pretty bad, my little sister and I. She took us, and she left. My dad tried everything to get her back. He promised to stop drinking, to go to rehab, to get a job, anything he could think of. It didn't work. Almost twenty years later and the only person he has any contact with is Aaron, and that's only on holidays."

"And what was your sob story supposed to do for me besides confirm that you're damaged like I said you were?"

"My father has three siblings, one ex-wife, four children, a daughter in law, a son in law and five grandchildren. Before he drank he had many friends. And now? He sees his son once, maybe twice a year. We refuse to talk to him and the bottle of vodka is his best friend most nights. My point is that if you don't stop before it's too late you really won't have anyone left."

I stood up and handed him the remote. Greenlee lay in her hospital bed, and something was wrong, but I had it tivo'd and would watch it later.

"So think about it. Get help and keep everyone in your life or end up a really bitter man with a few months before his liver gives out and he dies."

I walked out before he could answer. Hopefully he would listen to me.

* * *

The next day I showed up at my usually time with a Reuben – dry, no pickles – to find Wilson talking to House. 

"Hey James." I greeted. "I didn't know that you were here or I would have brought more food."

I had a salad for myself as well and a diet coke.

"Actually, I was just leaving."

His eyes were damp but I pretended not to notice.

"Lisa and I will be back with the papers in a little while Greg."

"Make it at least an hour or Cameron will pout. We have to get out All My Children fix for today." House requested from his bed. He was grinning though.

"What's going on?"

"Greg is starting rehab tomorrow." I smiled but didn't start jumping up and down with joy. I would hold my breath until he wasn't yellow anymore and until I was sure that he wasn't drinking.

Wilson slipped out and I handed Greg his lunch and turned on my tv show.

"What made you change your mind?"

He didn't answer but I didn't expect him to.

When the hour ended I stood to throw our trash out.

The words were soft; almost a whisper and I froze when I heard them.

"I couldn't lose you again."

* * *

"Our job is not to straighten each other out, but you help each other get up." 

_Neva Cole_


	3. Chapter 3

Here's the next chapter. I tried to get into House's head, but I'm not sure. Let me know. All mistakes are my own.  
Jess

* * *

**Chapter 3: Drinking. Both Times.  
**

"Princess."

"Hi daddy." I hear Brenna's voice and hear the familiar creak of springs as she settles on her dorm bed.

"How are you?"

"I'm good. Ready for finals to be over so that I can be home."

"I'm ready for you to be home too."

"Me and Tessa are going to come visit you at the hospital. She wants to be a doctor."

There are many responses that can follow her comments, so I go with one of my favorites.

"What's mean about Tessa?"

"_Dad!_"

"I have a new wombat that needs some straightening out. You think that you're up for the challenge?"

I can almost hear her rolling her eyes.

"I wish you wouldn't call all of your irritating new fellows wombats._I_ like Uncle Robert best, so be nice."

"Jimmy will love to hear that."

"You know what I mean."

I hear yelling in the background and then Brenna covered the mouth piece to yell something.

"Daddy, I got to go, a bunch of us are going to study."

"Okay Princess, be safe. I'll talk to you later. Love you."

"Love you too." She hesitates for a split second. "Take care of yourself too Daddy. Tell mom that I'll call her tomorrow. Bye."

I hear breathless laughter before the click and I cannot help but smile.

She is her mother's daughter. That is a fact.

"What?"

I do not realize that I am staring at my wife until I hear her voice.

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

"Brenna."

"She okay?" I watch as Allison's face immediately becomes worried.

Never mind the fact that she spoke to Brenna seconds before I did.

"I was just thinking about how alike you two are."

Allison rolls her eyes and slides her body next to mine on the couch.

I prop my feet onto the coffee table and wrap an arm around her.

"Don't get to comfortable. Miguel will be here soon." She warns.

Our favorite Mexican restaurant, Nuevo Leon, doesn't deliver to anyone except us.

They opened years ago and are close enough to the hospital for us to go there for meals.

The owner Ricardo has known us forever, and his son Miguel has had a crush on Brenna since the two were kids. Nothing will ever happen between the two of them because that's the way life is. Plus, Miguel has a girlfriend. His crush has turned into an old joke and platonic love.

Not that it would matter if they loved each other.

No one is good enough for my daughter. Just like no one was good enough for her mother.

Even me.

Brenna won't end up with a crippled, alcoholic, drug addicted bastard like me though. I won't let her.

Then again, she has my stubbornness. This thought sends me reeling and Allison taps her finger on my nose.

"_Stop._"

"Stop what?"

Even after over twenty years it is surprising how well she knows me.

"Thinking."

"So you want me to be an idiot?"

Allison sighs. "Brenna will always be your baby girl and you've scared away at least half of her prospective boyfriends. If she wants to get married and if she finds the right guy you'll know."

I open my mouth but the doorbell rings.

"That's the food. I'll get it."

She jumps up and dashes out of the room before I can respond, but it leaves me smirking.

We fit perfectly with each other.

She is ying and I am yang.

Or whatever crap they talk about when two people 'complete' each other.

Truth is all the BS about it is true. We work well together.

If you ignore all my stupid mistakes.

* * *

It was never about the taste of alcohol. It was never about getting high.

Truthfully?

It was because I _could_.

And because I _needed_ it.

The first time anyway.

I could pass out from the drinking and get up at two the next day and go to work.

I could get away with it, and save lives too.

Growing up my father was strict.

To strict.

Ice baths, beatings, sleeping outside, you name it I went through it.

When I became an adult I made a name for myself.

And once I made a name I could sit around and do nothing.

I was the best in my department.

I had people writing in from all over the _world_for my help.

And in the beginning I had it all, the perfect girlfriend, the best job, easy money, and weekends watching or playing sports with some old friends or colleagues. And I could say anything I wanted to them without getting scolded.

They_expected_ me to be sarcastic.

And then I lost my thigh.

My ability to walk normal.

My girlfriend.

My_life_.

Drugs could only help so much. Work could only help so much. Hell, even sex couldn't take my mind completely off the pain.

It started as a few beers to help me sleep, and by the time Cameron became my fellow it had been a scotch. And when she left it was even stronger scotch that eventually turned into rum and a handful of Vicodin to help me sleep at night.

Intervention and everything surrounding that happened.

And then I was happily (yes _happy_) married and had a beautiful daughter.

Drinking was a think of the past.

That doesn't mean that I didn't miss alcohol. I just had more important things.

One day I went out with Brenna and Allison. Brenna was ten and it was April. That much I can remember.

We were at a Monster Truck event and we were standing in line for cotton candy when a woman turned to beam at me.

"How nice of you to take your daughter and granddaughter out for a night. Do you like watching the trucks?"

Brenna had frowned at the woman and Allison and I had tensed.

"He's my dad."

The woman had been at loss for words, but by then it was her turn to get cotton candy. We got ours and then a still frowning Brenna pulled us towards Grave Digger.

It was one of the first times in a long time that I had seen true disappointment shinning in Brenna's eyes.

That was the night I bought my first beer.

* * *

At first it was just buying beer. 

I cannot tell anyone how many beers I bought only to pour them down the sink a few hours later, or pay for it without taking a sip.

Two months after Grave Digger Brenna and I got in a fight. Nothing big – in fact I can't even tell you what it was about.

I can tell you that Allison was staying overnight at the hospital which meant I had to play 'bad guy'.

_I hate you!_

Brenna had screamed at me right before racing to her room and slamming the door.

I ran down to the store and bought a six pack of Budweiser. I took a sip of the first beer and then realized what I had done. I gave the rest to some homeless man who was sitting by the store before racing home.

I had found Brenna curled up with her knees to her chest in my office her cheeks red and eyes puffy.

_I'm sorry Daddy. _

She had flung herself at me and sobbed and told me that she thought I had left her.

It was then I realized I was a terrible father.

Good fathers didn't leave their daughters alone.

Good fathers didn't fall off the wagon.

I never told Allison about my relapse, and I stopped drinking for another year.

There were moments when I would go and have a few sips of alcohol.

But I refused to acknowledge that it was getting out of my control.

It's been said that Doctors are control freaks.

And that is _completely_true.

I am a control freak and I will remain a control freak until the day I die.

But, anyway. The drinking.

I had decided that it was best for Brenna if I distanced myself from her.

The less contact she had with me the less hurt she would eventually have to overcome.

Allison was at a conference and I had just had the day from hell. Literally.

* * *

I hit my marker on the white board and waited for my fellows to look at me.

Our patient was a ten year old girl with blue eyes and blonde hair. I had seen her in passing.

She could have been my daughter.

"She's having an allergic reaction to the penicillamine."

"No shit." I spat back.

"We could take her off of it and put her on trientine again."

"It didn't work."

"Well-" One of my male ducklings spoke and then hesitated.

"Speak now." I commanded.

"We could put her on Tetrathiomolybdate,"

"It's not approved by the FDA." Other-Male-Duckling protested.

"But it will save her life. I like it. Go put the kid on it." The three stood, nodded and disappeared.

I sat back and waited for Cuddy to come storming in after my second duckling went to tattle on me.

* * *

"Greg! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Saving a life. Isn't that what you're supposed to do at hospitals?"

"Tetrathiomolybdate isn't FDA approved! It could kill the girl."

"And if it doesn't eventually Wilson's Disease will."

"It's a lose-lose situation."

"At least we know what Wilson's Disease will do. Tetrathiomolybdate is a whole different playing field."

"Thank you Captain Obvious."

* * *

"The parents are refusing the Tetrathiomolybdate." Female-Duckling parroted as my three fellows walked into my office. "Sariah's parents just want to take her home."

Even their name meant the same thing.

Damnit.

I knew what would happen to Saraih, but her parents did not.

Her liver would fail, her brain function – well her brain would become a neurological nightmare to put it simply.

I went to talk some sense into them.

But it didn't work.

And she kept staring at me.

The most trusting eyes. She was holding her dad's hand, her lips turned down ever so slightly in pain.

But when her parents spoke she looked at them.

She listened.

She trusted them to take care of her no matter what.

To never let her down.

Just like my daughter.

"_Your eyes  
As we said our goodbyes  
Can't get them out of my mind  
And I find I can't hide (from)  
Your eyes  
The ones that took me by surprise  
The night you came into my life  
Where there's moonlight  
I see your eyes-"_

I needed a drink.

And drink I did. When I got home that night I put Brenna to bed and got wasted.

- Actually, she put herself to bed.

Over the last year she had stopped relying on me.

Some days it was a relief. Other days it physically pained me.

And it wasn't as if Allison and Brenna weren't trying.

The number of times that Allison confronted me about my distance from my daughter was in about the four dozen range.

The number of times I had promised to do something with Brenna and then broken that promise was in the same range.

I never thought that I would loose them.

It wasn't until Brenna shoved me to protect Allison, until I saw them pulling out of the driveway that I realized what I had done.

That I had pushed my family so far away that they actually left.

"_- How'd I let you slip away  
When I'm longing so to hold you  
Now I'd die for one more day_  
'_Cause there's something I should have told you  
Yes there's something I should have told you-"_

* * *

"Get up you bastard." The voice shocked me as did the shove and the bright lights that accompanied it.

"What?"

"Get up. Get dressed. Get your wife and daughter back. Go to an AA meeting. Stop denying that you're an alcoholic. And call and convince my wife I didn't know what you were doing."

"I'm not an alcoholic."

"The fact that the first thing that you do is deny the alcohol part? Not helping your case."

If had been a week since my family had left me.

A week full of binge drinking and tears that only happened when I was drunk enough not to remember them.

Alcohol had become my best friend again.

"Your little girl walked in on you passed out on the floor Greg. You grabbed your wife so hard by her shoulders that she has bruises. My friend had to come wake you up with a bucket of ice. You have a problem."

His voice was soft which was how I knew that Wilson was serious.

I already felt as guilty as hell for yesterday.

So I chose a different part of his statement.

"Carrie making you sleep on the couch?"

"She thinks that I for some reason knew about the drinking. But I can deal with it. There's an AA meeting tomorrow at six. I'll pick you up at five thirty. Even if I have to drag you with me kicking and screaming."

I nodded and continued to stare off into space.

A million _what if's_ were racing through my head.

Some things never changed.

Maybe I was one of those things.

The problem variable.

The it factor.

Maybe_ I_ needed to remove myself from the equation.

"Greg." I stared at James.

"What if they won't take me back?"

He touched my shoulder gently.

"What if they will?"

I went to AA that night.

"_-When I looked into your eyes  
why does distance make us wise?  
You were the song all along  
And before the song dies-"_

I went to a month full of meetings and then I realized I was ready.

That I needed my family.

I had wanted to find them from the start.

From the moment that they pulled out of the driveway.

But I couldn't.

I couldn't let them come back to me when even I couldn't stand myself.

Allison had been right when she said that Brenna shouldn't have to grow up around someone like me.

I was sure I wanted them to come back.

That wasn't the question.

The question was if it was right to have them come back.

A crippled, alcoholic, drug abuser.

Brenna could look at me with pride and say that I was her father.

So there was my dilemma.

Whoever said if_ you love someone let them go_ was an idiot. If they don't come back to you it's because you let them go. Because it was your own fault to begin with.

If you loved someone and let them go, you had to be smart enough to go and get them back.

"_I should tell you I should tell you  
I have always loved you  
You can see it in my eyes"_

* * *

_Song Your Eyes from RENT__Quote by Doug Horton (If you love something let it go free. If it doesn't come back, you never had it. If it comes back, love it forever. )_


End file.
